


The Fine Art of Doing Nothing

by seatbeltdrivein



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: M/M, future!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-02
Updated: 2011-03-02
Packaged: 2017-10-16 01:12:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/166837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seatbeltdrivein/pseuds/seatbeltdrivein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roy, Ed, a vacation on a boat. Ed learns the art of relaxation and Roy learns that Ed has poor taste in drinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fine Art of Doing Nothing

Of the thousands of words and ways to say love, Ed stupidly could only think of _Roy_ , and he was pretty sure that wouldn't count in anyone else's vocabulary.

The boat rocked slowly back and forth on the water. Ed had been sitting on the deck for the better part of an hour, just staring at the skyline and marveling over the fact that he was _here_ , that he was just this tiny speck sitting on a vast ocean. It was—amazing to think about, to just sit and feel so insignificant in the world, no matter the things he'd done.

 _This_ , Ed thought with relish, _is what it means to be on vacation._

Roy'd spread himself out on the reclining deck chair next to Ed, and every so often, his breath would whistle in his throat, the sleepsigh of a man who really understood how to relax. Ed envied him that, that casual ability Roy had to just shut his brain off and vegetate. It didn't matter what Ed was doing or wanted to do, his mind was always turning, always focusing in on some small thing or other.

"You," Roy started stirring, rolling onto side to face Ed's direction, brows dipped down, "are thinking loudly enough that I think I can actually hear it."

"Sorry," Ed said.

Roy dismissed the apology with a sluggish wave of his hand, shifting up so he was more sitting upright than laid out on his back. "What time is it? I could've sworn the sun was higher than that not five minutes ago."

Ed snapped open his silver watch. "It's almost four. You've been out of it for over two hours."

"Is that right," Roy said, using the same tone one might use to ask about the weather. "I guess that explains why I'm so hungry."

"The dining hall's probably about to open for dinner," Ed said. "We could go eat."

"It isn't even four," Roy said. "It's too damn early for dinner."

"The bar?" Ed suggested. Frankly, Ed thought that if it was too early for dinner, then it was definitely too early to get tanked, but Roy visibly perked at the mention of the bar.

But the thing about the bar was that it was so—really there was no other way to describe it— _pink_. Little paper hearts were plastered to the sides of the bar, to the ceiling and the doorways and the edges of all the tables. It freaked Ed out, that's what it did, but Roy thought it was nice, in a kitschy way.

They made their way to the bar lazily, basking in the last hour or so of sunlight. The boat rocked gently back and forth, a pleasant roll of the tide, and Ed had a vague thought about sea legs and liquor, but he quickly told himself it was nothing to bother himself with.

Vacation, he thought sternly, is no place to worry about common sense.

"Do I want a gin?" Roy asked to no one in particular as he scooted Ed to the bar, a hand on the small of Ed's back. "Or do I want a whiskey?"

"I want the one with the umbrella."

"The—the Malibu?" Roy snickered. "If you wanted to announce that we're together, then—"

"Fuck off," Ed hissed, and walked straight up to the bar, slammed his hand on the counter, and said, in a gruff voice, "I want a Malibu!"

The sweaty-looking man behind the counter paused his polishing of the filthy glass in his hands and snorted out a loud laugh. "Sure, okay. Want the umbrella, too?"

"Yeah," Ed said, and when the man laughed even harder, Roy still snickering at his side, he wondered if perhaps that had been a trick question.

*

There were eight empty glasses between them, five of which had little paper umbrellas sticking out the tops. They'd been too girly for Ed's taste, all flowers and swirls and shit, so he'd made them into something awesome with a quick clap of his hands. Once the barkeep got a good look at the badass dragons and skulls peppered liberally on each umbrella, the asshole'd finally stopped laughing.

Now, though, with a few drinks in him, Ed couldn't seem to stop. He and Roy both, actually. They'd commandeered a back table, downing drink after drink and, after they'd both gotten two drinks down and Roy had loudly announced that the Fuhrer of Amestris was covering their check, they'd gotten to be pretty popular.

The longer the night went on, the more filled the bar had become, and somewhere along the way, most of the couples had made a point of spending time at Ed and Roy's table. They even called it their table, which Ed found cool. Only, it didn't come out as "Ed and Roy's table," at all. Whenever someone came by, they always called it, "Ednroy's table," like they shared one name, were somehow smashed into being just a single person.

Ed looked at Roy, bleary-eyed, and scooted across the bench until his thigh was against Roy's thigh and his shoulder was against Roy's upper arm. They were _definitely_ not just a person. They were people, were two separate identities, and Ed couldn't make any sense of what the hell these nameless bastards dropping in and out of reality were on about—

"Hey," Roy said, having finally taken notice of Ed's sudden closeness.

"Hey," Ed said back, a goofy grin spilling across his face.

And then Roy's face was a lot closer than Ed had realized, and Ed figured, hell, he might as well try a little harder! Except something didn't quite work out—Roy's teeth collided painfully with Ed's chin, and Ed found himself tonguing Roy's nose in a rather uncomfortable way, all while some girl and her boyfriend were sitting across from them.

The girl said, with a big smile on her face, "You guys are just the _cutest_!"

Ed smacked his lips together, still trying to figure out how Roy's nose got to be where Roy's lips should have been, and said, "What?"

She passed them more drinks, and everything got sort of fuzzy from there.

*

Waking up was not meant to be so painful, Ed was pretty sure. They were in their cabin, sprawled out on the rather hard floor, and Roy was wrapped around him, sweat gluing their bare skin together. Ed shifted, uncomfortable. "Roy," he said, wiggling harder, trying to dislodge the other man. " _Roy_ , you fucking leech!"

"Mrrgph," was all Roy had to say on the matter, and quickly went about latching his mouth onto Ed's neck in a very unsexy way.

Ed finally just got too fed up and, wincing in premeditated sympathy, shoved his (left!) knee straight between Roy's legs, hard.

Roy yelped and rolled onto his side, curling into a ball. "What," he said, breathing loudly. " _Why_."

"G'morning, darling," Ed said dully, trying to crawl up and onto the bed. "Ugh. My head."

"My balls," Roy returned darkly, and Ed did his best not to laugh.

He failed, of course.

Taking pity, he helped Roy onto the bed, peeling their pants and what was left of their clothing off, reaching over to flick on the switch that controlled the fan. "Too hot," he whined. "Why was this a good idea, again?"

Roy rubbed his face into Ed's neck. "Dunno," he said, voice still tinged with that inebriated drawl. "What'd we do last night?"

"Dunno," Ed echoed. "And I don't think we wanna know…"

They slept on and off for the remainder of the morning, straight into the afternoon. When they both felt alive enough to crawl out of bed, Roy stumbled for the shower, leaving Ed sitting on the edge of the bed and staring at his feet.

The water turned on in the bathroom, and a blast of cool air floated out the cracked open door. Ed, entranced and suffering from a full bladder, could not resist it. He closed the bathroom door behind him and went straight for the toilet. When he was done, he flushed it with his foot, listening to Roy's shriek of surprise in the shower (followed quickly by a stream of curses) before jumping into the cramped stall.

"You're unbearable in the morning," Roy grumbled, stepping aside to make room for him.

"Be nice," Ed chided, "and I'll let you wash my hair."

That usually got Roy, and in this instance, didn't fail. The man had an odd obsession with Ed's hair, and tended to get a bit giddy when given the opportunity to fiddle with it, though he denied it to anyone who asked. Ed let his head roll back, eyelids fluttering when Roy rubbed the shampoo into his scalp, humming behind him.

Ed relaxed completely. Roy, he could feel, was not quite so limp. "Seriously?"

Roy scratched against Ed's scalp. "What? I'm a man, I have needs."

"Well, don't get shampoo in my eyes, freak, and we'll see if those needs get met."

The cold water felt so good that Ed couldn't begrudge Roy a few minutes of running his hands through Ed's hair even once the soap had been rinsed completely out. He felt alive again, which was always nice, and when he and Roy finally stepped out, their bodies still tangled together, they didn't bother toweling off.

"Bed," Roy said, less a suggestion and more a plea.

They were stumbling right back into the bar-and-liquor reek from the night before, the smell of smoke and sea heavy on the sheets as they tumbled down together. It wouldn't be slow or romantic or perfect, was just a slide of hands and the frantic grind of their bodies. Roy was panting into Ed's mouth, their lips parted and touching but lacking the coordination necessary to form anything close to a kiss. Ed wound his flesh fingers into Roy's hair, tugging the short strands as they rode their bodies harder, and thought, _if this is as perfect as we get, then I have no complaints._

Over the edge, their bodies once again too hot to be comfortable, Ed didn't move, didn't even think to shove Roy off—Roy, who always got sappy after sex when they were still covered in their own quickly drying messes, and always took to mumbling sweet nothings, _I love you_ 's and all the ridiculous nonsense that set Ed's face to burning.

Ed let him talk, and when Roy ended the flow of words with, "Let's stay in tonight," Ed couldn't have been more thrilled.

It was, all in all, the best way to spend an anniversary. As Roy leaned off the side of the bed to rummage through their open bags for a condom, Ed made a mental note to thank the new Fuhrer Grumman for the gift—and to thank him in advance for covering what promised to be an outrageous tab.


End file.
